The Horcrux Wars
by Fulminanz
Summary: When the Locket had won its battle of survival, everything changed for the Trio. New frontiers bring out new allies, friends and fiends and a war that had but Britain in its grasp spreads out over the world of magic.
1. The Locket's Victory

It surprised Harry that he was still alive. He shouldn't be. There hadn't even been a remote chance of him surviving the last two hours he remembered. Yet here he was, lying on something that felt like moss, somewhere that smelled like pine and forest, yet also soft jasmine and honey. He tried to open his eyes, yet as much as he tried, he couldn't.

He didn't feel his lids, nor could he even move his eyeballs. Now that he thought about it, he had lost most feeling in almost all of his body. Just a moment later he also realized that this numbness didn't scare him, nor worry him. It was all lost, anyway.

Being restricted to his own mind was the worst part of his current situation. It gave him time to think back to the reason he was wounded. It gave him time to think back to the forest where they, Hermione and him, had camped out. He remembered the small pond, the Sword of Gryffindor and the Locket trying to strangle him. Then: Ron. Ron had found them. He had saved Harry. It was with so much happiness at his best friend's return that he decided to give Ron the honor of destroying the horcrux.

Then it all went wrong.

Harry had opened the Locket with his parseltongue and the corrupted soul within it was quick to hone in on a target. It's toxic words cut deep into his friend, the venom it spewed rekindled the fire of jealousy in Ron's heart, overruling his loyalty and courage.

"Nothing it says is true, Ron! You have to believe me!" he had screamed and pleaded with Ron. "Hermione is waiting for you. For you!"

Yet the horcrux was too mighty and whomever Ron had been displaced with, he was in that moment a dangerous adversary with the Sword of Gryffindor in his hand.

"You took her from me!" Not-Ron had shouted in rage, his eyes red, his speech with a subtle hissing in it. No more words had been exchanged. Harry hadn't been able to, dumbstruck by the possessed Ron. His mind hit back into gear just early enough for him to duck a mighty swing of the sword aimed at his head.

He had tried to fire a spell, but Hermione's wand was useless; had felt as if it was as paralysed as he had been just a moment before. Harry dodged and weaved away from the heavy blows of the sword. It had hit a tree and the bark withered and blackened, proving to anyone who'd have doubted it that the sword still possessed the basilisk's venom.

Harry had taken his chance while Ron broke his sword free, to make a run for the tent. They needed to get out of here. "Hermione!"

Like a spring she had shot up and ran towards the tent's entry. "Harry! What's going on?"

"It's Ron… he has the sword… he is possessed." Harry shouted through ragged breath. He came next to her and pressed her wand into her hands. "You need to get us out o…" was all he had been able to say before the distinct sound of apparition was right behind him, he heard a evil, inhuman cackle and felt cold steel rammed through his abdomen.

He remembered Hermione screaming in terror, just to receive a quick blow against her head with the crossguard of the sword, knocking her out.

Harry had felt the worst pain since the Cruciatus in Little Hangleton. He had felt the venom coursing through his veins. It worked fast, but with something of grace, as if the venom enjoyed to kill, as if the substance felt some kind of satisfaction in killing the one that had gotten away.

Ron kicked him against the knees, bringing him down to the ground. He barely felt his knees crashing against stone and hard, frozen soil, so overwhelming was the pain from the venom eating away on his flesh.

"Potter, Potter… Potter." Ron spoke, yet even through the pain it became clear that the one using Ron's mouth was the soulsplitter within the horcrux, not his best friend. The Locket hung around Ron's neck, pressing against his chest with magical force while black iqor made its way through every orifice on his best friend's face. "It appears the Boy-Who-Lived must admit defeat. I wonder, though, how long will it take the venom to eat you up? It failed once, why not twice? You were always this… how to say it… abnormally, irregularly, _freakishly_ lucky."

"Ron… please…" Harry had tried, but failed to speak to his best friend who was buried somewhere deep down the monstrosity that stood before him.

"No, Harry. No please, no 'I beg of you'. Have some pride." Ron then cackled again, the harmony of his laugh eerily close to that of Bellatrix Lestrange. "You will need it for where I'm about to send you."

Harry could only watch through a blur as Ron swung his wand and dismantled the security charms around them. Then he picked up Hermione, swung her over his shoulder and made to go. Just when Ron was about to vanish behind the trees, he turned around and the red eyes glowed through the black of night. "This war is over. You have failed. She is mine now and hey… maybe I'll even name one of my children after you. After all, we did have something of a… friendship, didn't we?" Ron shrugged, rearranging Hermione on his shoulders. "I'll go now and save my family, present and future. I'm not gonna be the son who requires sacrifice. No… I'd rather you're gone, have peace and quiet back in Britain. All under the rule of the Dark Lord..." Ron took a breath and a wide grin spread over his face. "Voldemort."

The second Ron disapparated with Hermione, Harry heard apparitions all around them in the woods. He heard shouts, jeers and taunts. It wasn't clear - his blood was rushing through his ears, the sound of his bloodstream slowly thickening - yet he could discern some of their comments, and his paralysed, panicked mind made one connection. Enemies! Run!

So he ran. His legs were wobbly and bruised, his abdomen bleeding like a faucet and the venom still ate away at his very life. Every step came with herculean effort, each time his soles hit the ground he felt as if he had impaled his foot on nails.

As if by a miracle he avoided whoever had apparated in, their voice no longer coming from all around him, but just from behind him. Yet, he kept running. The forest got darker the farther away he ran from the meager fire until complete darkness surrounded him.

Bushes, roots and stones made running hard. Twigs cut open his legs. Roots made him trip. Stones tried their best to break his ankles. It was just noise to Harry, who still clutched the hole in his belly with his hands, feeling the great amounts of blood flowing through his fingers. He felt the venom, skipping through his veins in this slow, agonizing, yet unstoppable manner.

His eyesight was blurred, even with his glasses. Everything he saw was framed with blackness, slowly taking the rest of his sight. He felt the sting of the basilisk's venom behind his eyeballs, pricking at his nerves. He succumbed to it, like all his body would succumb to the venom. Suddenly he saw was complete black, not even the sparse moonlight's shadows giving even a bit of detail to the nightly forest.

Still Harry ran as fast as he could. He crashed against trees and fell on stones. He felt ribs break, his ankle twisting, his hips colliding with the roots of trees, but he always stood back up and forced himself by sheer force of will to run.

Why had he done that, he asked himself. Maybe it had been the fight for his life - the pure adrenalin whipping him into shape. Maybe it had been the thought that without him, Hermione would be doomed. He doubted it was the duty towards their mission, at that moment.

He only remembered himself stumbling through the forest, hopelessly lost and dying. He remembered his body fighting against the venom, in a last bid to best it once again. But this time there was no Fawkes, no salvation for him to have. It was just the agonizing knowledge that whatever he did, he would die.

Eventually, when his breath was accompanied by bubbling sounds from the blood in his lungs, when his nose, eyes and ears were like faucets from which blood streamed down his face, and when his legs protested the abuse with cramps, he crashed against something soft.

He had no chance of discerning what it was, only that his mind was content to let him make his final stand here. Harry tried to sob, yet only a gurgle of blood came from his mouth as the venom came to his brain, behind his forehead. Even his thoughts went numb as he felt his life subside. His magic, so valiant in its efforts to stop the venom felt like it too threw the towel. He was down, and about to die and for a short moment, he felt an odd sense of serenity as he slowly lost his consciousness.


	2. The Grove

Now he was here, lying on something soft and grassy, like moss. It wasn't the same sort of soft he fell into, so Harry deduced he had moved, or had been moved.

Harry's body went rigid when he heard voices, muffled like they were coming through layers of curtains. He listened closely, but couldn't deduce what they said, only that they were female, and sounded young. They also came closer and were hurried and hissed, like a subdued fight that nobody should listen in to.

With a mighty push, the curtains were moved away and Harry could clearly hear the voices now, not a room's length away from him. He heard feet move over soft surfaces, glass hitting glass with soft sounds coming from them. But over all this were the two voices, hissing at each other.

At first Harry thought himself hallucinating. He tried to find words in the speech, but couldn't. Not until he realized they did not speak English, let alone any other language he had ever heard. It was a melodic language, almost to the point of it being sung.

"Sha'a-thum falaran, nol idamie, Dyra!" one voice hissed.

"Molaese-thum falavin, nol bayabal. Soj, bala!" the other one gave back, her voice reminding Harry somewhat of a petulant child.

They held their quiet argument for a while, yet Harry gave up trying to understand. The language was just too far removed from anything he knew to recognize, let alone comprehend.

While they had their argument, one of them came close to his bed. Harry let his body relax, and forced his breath to be even and slow, trying to fake himself sleeping.

He felt hands on his exposed abdomen, slowly rubbing what felt like a salve on the spot where the Sword of Gryffindor had been rammed through him.

"Moi, moi, manruun, moi, moi." she whispered as she tenderly kept rubbing, letting more of the salve run on his belly from time to time.

"Soj mia, lugori bas manruun, ah?" the second woman giggled behind the one tending to Harry. He felt her hand go still and imagined her body going rigid.

"Bas," the first pressed out, obviously insulted by whatever the other one had said. Her hand continued rubbing in the salve, but it was less tender in doing so now. So much so that when she made an especially quick move with it, Harry hissed at the pain it caused.

"Oh," one of them breathed and then said with a cheery note. "Sudala, Manruun."

The hand with the salve moved away from his abdomen, up to his face where she drew lines of strange patterns on his forehead. Suddenly Harry understood it as some sort of spellwork, because the numbness of his eyes and eyelids was gone. He carefully opened them and was glad the room he lay in was only sparsely illuminated.

"Hmm," the second one hummed and grabbed his chin. She forced him to move his head, which caused him pain in every sore muscles, which was truly just every muscle.

His eyes fell on the face of a vision of beauty, but unearthly, like the beauty of a Veela. The first detail that was obvious to him were the eyes, which were so green, his own looked dull against them, and where he had white in his eyes, hers were a rich brown, and patterned like the bark of a pine. He let his own eyes roam around her face, taking in her looks. His eyes fell on her ears, which were resembling those of deer. Her hair, which was of a beige brown, like dying grass, was hip-long and had twigs between it's strands that came out of the woman's scalp.

He had the feeling like she also let herself analyse him before she spoke. Yet this time, to Harry's surprise, what came out of her mouth was pure, accent-free English. "Good morning. Mister Potter, I assume?"

"Y-" he tried to speak, but his throat was as dry as a desert and no words would come out. The woman understood and set a small, flat bowl filled with water to his lips. He drank eagerly, ignoring the pain the water caused when it ran down his throat. With a sigh of relief he let himself enjoy the feeling of water cleaning his mouth of the coppery taste he just now recognized in it.

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter." he croaked out. "Who are you? Have you rescued me?"

"You're a wanted man, Mr. Potter, the entire island is searching for you." she said, while sounding as if harbouring a fugitive was amusing to her. She gestured to the second woman behind her. She too, was a stunning beauty, yet younger and rounder in her features. She also had the same green eyes, the same deer-ears and the same beige-brown hair with twigs growing from her head. "This is Dyra. She has rescued you." she rolled her eyes. "Or rather, taken you as a souvenir when you barrelled into her."

Dyra waved her hands and got a greenish hue on her cheeks.

"I am Soj," She pointed gracefully at herself. "I'm the Healer of this grove, and while you are here, you are mine, understood?"

"What?"

"So no, not understood. Very well…" Soj sighed and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Then she took a small breath and looked back at Harry with a strictness that reminded Harry of McGonagall. "I would assume that by now you have realized that we are not the same race, Mr. Potter?"

He nodded.

"What do you know of the magical civilizations that call Britain their home, with the exception of your own race, the human mages?"

"Uhm…" Harry began, thinking of what he had learned about any other civilizations during all his years of Hogwarts. It wasn't much. "There are the Mer, the Goblins… then the Centaurs, and… uhm… Trolls, and… you?"

Dyra snorted a laugh, but quickly sobered when Soj sent her a smoldering glare. The older woman let that glare slowly turn to Harry who tried to sink back into the moss he was lying on.

"Trolls?" she spat.

"Well, they're somewhat… coherent?" Harry tried, but quickly saw that it was the wrong thing to say. Soj got a twitch in her right eye, while Dyra couldn't keep the laugh in and giggled in her hands. Soj closed her eyes, trying to get the twitch under control, and took a deep breath before she let it out in a long exhale.

Visibly calmer she began to speak. "I would hope that we are more coherent than trolls." she gave a dirty look to the still giggling Dyra. "It is but the arrogance of the wizards to even name us in the same sentence as those beasts, and it is insulting, I must admit, to not even be named."

"In my case it's probably the ignorance of the wizard, if I'm honest."

She sighed again, but gave him a small, polite smile. "At least you're self aware."

"So… What are you then? You somewhat look like them, but you're definitely not Veela."

"Suu Vedji? Sasa, maruun." Dyra said and swayed her hips in what harry thought was a weak attempt at being alluring.

Soj gave a small laugh this time and waved dismissively at Dyra. At his questioning look she translated. "She said that being compared to Veela could be counted as flirting." she then waved that off as well. "It's not that far off, though. We are related to Veela - the other line of evolutionary descension if you will. We're Dryads, you see. Nymphs of the Forests."

Harry smiled, just now connecting the dots of the few tidbits of education he had on the beautiful "Women of the Woods". That knowledge came mostly from seventh year boys, daring the more timmit amongst them to go into the Forbidden Forest to find some nymphs to lose their virginity to. They shared much of the stigma of Veela, but had a more mystical aura around them, as they were mostly not seen or heard, hidden even deeper in the forests than centaurs and often guarded by them.

Harry shook his head at the improbability of him literally stumbling into one to his rescue. Though previous words had him doubt the safety of his current situation. "You said I'm… yours?"

"Correct," Soj nodded.

"Why? What does that even mean?" he pressed on. "Am I a prisoner?"

"No. It is just, the groves do not permit a Mage walking freely within their territory. A safety measure, you see, for both sides."

"A safety measure?"

"Yes, Mr Potter. I would think you do know the reason there are no Nymphs in the… how do you call it? The Forbidden Forest? I would think you know first hand why?"

"Yeah…" he admitted and he felt his cheeks go red at the thought of doing _that_ with the woman before him. After all, her whole being let even Fleur seem dull, as if there was something more to her beauty than simple looks, despite her floral and animalistic features.

"So you see why we cannot have a young, male mage walk amongst us unsupervised?"

"Yes, but, you said it was safety for both sides."

Soj grinned, somewhat predatory, yet amused. "A male human walking alone in a grove is bound to be… utilized for the only use we truly have for them."

"Which is…?"

"Procreation, Mr. Potter."

"What?!"

"Why, Dyra over there was over the clouds when you stumbled into her, only to have her hopes of offspring squashed when she realized your condition." she said, having entirely too much fun with his situation.

"And now…"

"Now you're mine, due to me healing you. Once you are again capable of it - once the venom is out of your system, I will ask payment for my services…" Soj declared with a broad grin on her face.

At that Harry tried to shot up and protest, but it was almost as if his spine broke into a million pieces when he even so much as tried to lift his chest for more than a few inches. He hissed out his pain, but demanded of himself to not scream, and to not cry from it.

He felt the hands of Soj on his chest, pressing him down onto the moss with gentle force. Her other hand drew lines on his body in fast strokes, and suddenly the pain numbed and his breath regained normality.

"You are still too weak. You must rest. The basilisk venom still has not surrendered itself to whatever marvelous inner defenses you possess. It will take time."

"I don't have time." Harry croaked. "The war is still going on and my frien… my friends…."

"Your body demands the time of you." Soj whispered softly. Her hands stroked his cheek, wiping away a traitorous tear. She let it rest there while her thumb stroked up and down his already growing stubble. "You were dead. I had almost given up on you when you came back to life, if ever so barely. You slept for ten days, afterwards, always between death and life. You must rest here and grow strong again."

As if she understood from his glare alone what he thought about growing strong in the grove, she sighed and said even lower in voice. "I must apologize… even during my studies outside I was never good at… banter, I think it is called. I will say that it would be an incredible gift to the grove to have a mage willingly father offspring, but we will not force you to. Promise. We are no savages, despite what many of your contemporaries might believe." She then rested her hand on his chest, over the spot where she had drawn the lines with her finger. "But you must rest. The Dark Lord will not find his end at the hands of a cripple, will he?"

Unwilling to admit to it, Harry just stared at her green eyes and kept still. It was seemingly enough for Soj as she gave him a smile and nodded. Her hands went to the small nightstand next to him, a stump with a bowl carved into it. She grabbed a few vials full of different potions, and held them up to him. "Your dose for today. These potions will help you heal, and make you drowsy, so before I give them to you I will leave you with another promise, Mr. Potter. The trees have told me of the night you came to us. Such betrayal at the hand of your friend… I cannot imagine how you must feel…"

"He didn't betray me." Harry said. "He was possessed. Vol-"

As quick as lightning he had her hand over his mouth. "Do not say his name. He has placed a taboo over it and all who dare speak it doom themselves. They send Death Eaters after whoever utters the name. It has happened with a sister grove before. We must be cautious."

Harry's eyes grew wide as he realized Ron must've known that too in order to summon those people who apparated in. The horcrux must've read his mind thoroughly, then, or fused with Ron. It didn't matter. Fact was that Harry had to put down Ron as an enemy now; a potent one at that. The realization hurt more than he thought it would.

"He was possessed." Harry repeated when she removed her hands.

"Be that as it may, the tale was still a tragic one." Soj took a fortifying breath, her eyes showing her own sadness at his fate. "Now, a promise, as I said. I will provide you with any information we can gather. Our information network is… well connected, you could say, yet somewhat impaired in their senses."

"You mean you use the trees?"

"Yes. Unfortunately they cannot discern between important things and unimportant ones. Most trees are more fascinated by the fairy nest in their crown than the battle going on around them." She rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. "Yet, sometimes, they feel the need to look around them. When magic surges, they keep watch."

"So do you have some information, yet?" Harry asked. "I doubt you just started with this. You must be well informed of the situation in Britain, at least."

"We are, yes." Soj let her head hang down, weighing what information would be appreciated.

"I'm not one to mollycoddle. I had enough of that. You can hit me with the ugly truth, it won't make it worse than it already is."

"Very well," she said and straightened up again. "It concerns your possessed friend. Are you sure…?"

"If its about Ron, I want to hear it."

"The willow next to the house of the Weasleys... She died five days ago, in Fiendfyre." Soj swallowed, but continued. "The house is gone and so are its inhabitants. We don't know if anybody survived, but the orchard spoke of the same evil that the pines of the forest have spoken of when they described your possessed friend."

"I… see…" was all Harry could muster to say as the image of fiendish, flaming dragons destroying the Burrow went through his head.

"There is no confirmation of their deaths,..." Soj began but trailed off when she saw the pained expression on his face. Instead she grabbed the potions and uncorked the first one.

"It is time for you to rest." She said and placed the vial on his lips.

Harry swallowed the potion, not even thinking about what he was swallowing. He couldn't muster the strength to care. It was all going wrong. Were the Weasleys safe? Was Hermione even still alive? The second potion went down his throat and he felt his eyelids get heavy. When the third potion was poured into his mouth he already had help swallowing.

"Dyra will keep watch over you." was the last thing he heard before sleep took him.

The next days were agonizing to Harry, as he had one thing in abundance. Time to think.

Thinking was not something he liked to do in his situation. He could barely move as his muscles ached as if they were nailed together. Harry assumed it was still the basilisk venom, trying it's very best to not let him go twice.

Unable to move, all he had left were his thoughts.

The Ron with red eyes haunted his every moment, waking and asleep. He had been quick in differentiating the boy that had become his brother over 6 years of friendship with the monster that had impaled him with a poisonous sword.

Harry wondered where he could be. The Burrow was burnt down, and the Weasley family, for all he knew, dead. Possessed Ron's entire motivation seemed to have been his jealousy. He wanted Hermione, or at the very least the horcrux used Ron's desire to overwhelm him, control him and safe itself from destruction. Would the horcrux keep Hermione around, now that it was free? Why did it burn the Burrow down? Why did it even return there?

Harry groaned in frustration at those and a thousand more questions he couldn't answer. Tears of despair often ran down his cheeks and soon were replaced by him glaring at the roof, his eyes so full of hate against _him_ , against Voldemort and the corruption he brought with him wherever his magic let it's tendrils of influence fall.

It began with Britain. Diagon Alley, once so colorful, lifely, so absolutely and undeniably _magical_ , was now a swamp of blacks and browns, devoid of everything Voldemort claimed to defend. It was devoid of magic, empty of even pureblooded life. It was irreparably destroyed.

It went on with the people, so paralysed by fear, or corrupted into becoming the monsters they were so afraid of. It was the opportunists, now blooming in an environment in which the only skill needed to thrive was to be free of conscience. It was the madmen, who saw a nation arising in which they would make the rules - rules as mad and evil as them.

It was the day after Soj had sent him to sleep and Harry woke again on the soft moss bed, incapable of too much movement, but at least able to turn his neck without having the feeling of breaking his spine. He marked that down as a sign of him healing. He also felt that he was practically naked, with the exception of silken sheets covering him from the hip down. He denied himself the freedom to be bothered by that. It was only logical that they would get rid of his bloodied and torn clothes. He tried to remember if he had been naked yesterday as well, yet was unable to recall, so all encompassing had the pain been, emotionally as well as physically.

Able to use his neck, he took the chance to take in the room around him for the first time. It became clear that he had to be inside some sort of tree, as the walls around him were all made as if from one log. Windows, doors, cupboards, tables, stools and even the frame of the bed he was lying on were carved from the tree, with no seams to be seen.

The purpose of the room was easily as baffling as it's making. He saw a potion laboratory with two potions in small cauldrons bubbling away, next to a small library full of wooden tablets and books, some of which Harry even recognized. Right next to it, following the room clockwise, was a small nook, covered in the same soft moss he lay on, in which Dyra was reading one of the books, completely immersed in it's pages. Then there was a small kitchen, a cupboard with neatly folded, silken clothes and then his bed. It was small, but comfortable, lit by candles that never grew smaller and the fire's on which the potions simmered.

Harry allowed his eyes to roam over the figure of Dyra. It was odd, to compare the picture in the seventh year Care of Magical Creatures book, and specifically those pages all boys had been studying especially close, with an actual, real Dryad. Even though the author, one Newt Scamander, had been spot on with the drawing, he had been incapable of capturing their true look, their true beauty. Dyra wore what Scamander wrote as typical for Dryads, and Nymphs worldwide. It was a wide flowing robe of silken material, barely covering anything of their bodies. When she shifted slightly, Harry also confirmed that they seemed to not rightly care if the robe covered their more private parts at all. He stifled a cough at that, desperately trying not to blush too much.

It was for naught, however, as Dyra heard his choked cough and was ripped away from her book. Probably thinking that he had problems with his throat she hurried over to him, her robe wrapping around her shoulders, neck and belly, but nothing else.

He tried to look away, he truly did. His sense of decency demanded of him to give her the courtesy to not look, yet he was incapable. It was very much magic working, so much he recognized. It was as if his eyes were a compass needle and Dyra the north pole. He had to look and was even forced to by the magic surrounding the Dryad, this time not broken by pain.

Dyra didn't seem to notice his predicament, or severely misinterpreted his uncomfortable look with one of pain. Her legs carried her through the room in no time, where she sat down next to him on the bed and began to inspect his wounds with her soft and gentle fingers. She frowned at the wound on his belly and used some of the same salve Soj had used to rub it over it.

Voldemort himself may have strolled in the room on a tricycle, wearing pink robes, Harry wouldn't have noticed. His brain came to a grinding halt at the perfect, round and full pair of breasts dangling over him, softly jiggling with the circling motion Dyra's hands made.

He felt it too late to even try to counteract it. The silken sheets rose with the bulge growing between his legs. Dyra's hands stopped only for a moment. Her eyes darted to his loins for but a blink of an eye. Then she continued the treatment, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

"Buso Soj, maajaguo manruun ma meviali." she quipped and her grin grew even wider.

"I-" Harry shook his head a bit to get his head cleared. "I don't understand… at all. Sorry."

Dyra smiled at him with that same grin as the cat that got the canary. She pointed at his loins, then at herself and then, with an exaggerated frown, crossed both of her index fingers. "Soj," she added.

"Soj told you not to… well…" he nodded towards his hip, unable to finish the sentence.

"Ah, Soj buso." Dyra answered, as if he would understand more this time around.

At the very least she seemed to be spurred on by the fact that Harry talked with her. She let her second hand roam his chest with no purpose other than touching him. Her chest wandered even closer to his face and if he felt her legs touching his once or twice he was sure it was no accident.

It reminded him of the few moments alone with Ginny where they had come close to going the entire way, only stopped by the fear of being found, or treating over a boundary none of them had a concept of. The thought of Ginny reminded him of the Weasleys, and it reminded him of Ron.

His face warped into a silent snarl. Ron was controlled by a horcrux, Hermione a s hostage and he had nothing better to do than let his base desires take over him. He was disgusted by himself.

Dyra noticed and stopped her unmasked attempt at seduction. "Manruun?"

Harry looked at her and noticed that her smile was gone for a look of concern. He took his time to assess her expression, trying to determine her intent. Was she honest in her concern, or was she just out to finally get out of him the one use they had for wizards?

Eventually he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt when she slipped off the bed and kneeled next to him, her hand holding his own, to comfort rather than to seduce.

"Thank you," he whispered, his eyes never leaving her own. She tilted her head in question.

Harry sighed and gave her a small smile. "You don't understand anything I say, do you?"

She shrugged.

"I could tell you that looking at you makes me feel guilty… in so many ways." He started, almost as if a valve was opened, to pour out his heart. She wouldn't understand, he knew, but she looked at him and _listened_. "My best friend has become a vessel for the darkest magic known to man. My other best friend is probably struggling for her life right now. The girl I swore to protect by denying my feelings for her is in a school run by Death Eaters. They all count on me to finish this. The entire nation needs _me_ to end this war." He felt tears run down his face, just as much as he felt a great weight being lifted.

"And here I am, ogling at your… I should be out there. I should be thinking of a fallback plan. Do something. I don't have a wand, all of our gear is gone, we lost the one piece we had and the sword to destroy it."

"Mo, mo, Manruun." Dyra whispered and wiped away his tears for him.

A heart wrenching sob escaped him as he felt her soft fingers over his cheeks. "I feel like I'm leading you on." he breathed out. He felt exhausted. His mind was drained, as if the admittance to his sorrows took all his energy with him. His eyes fell shut. He enjoyed having her fingers still on his cheeks. He could pretend it were Hermione's, or Ginny's fingers.

He startled when he felt her stand up and step over him onto the bed. His eyes darted to her, but all he could see was the look of concern, and maybe even sadness on her face. She laid next to him, further up the bed. Her arms slung around him, his chest and his head. With gentle pressure she pushed his head against her chest and rested it below her chin. Soft hands began to stroke his cheeks and hair, while she whispered sweet nothings to him.

His eyes fell shut. Her embrace made him feel safe, and erased his thoughts from his head. For a short moment he tried to figure out if it was her magic, or just his exhaustion, but he quickly let himself fall into this soft and comfortable void.

Her hands stroked his hair. His head rested against her. There would be no nightmares for him that night.

Harry was woken up the next day by the smell of onions, herbs and meat wafting through the room. His eyes opened to the sight of Dyra throwing all kinds of ingredients into a big pot. She had a small smile on her face. Harry had to look away quickly, embarrassed again.

Her robes were all over the place, just like the day before. It reminded him of the position he fell asleep in yesterday, making his cheeks blush beet red. Though he also couldn't help but smile. He had slept better than he could remember having slept for years. Then he blushed even deeper red, because other than potion induced sleep, this one had not - not in any way - been dreamless.

He figured that was the price to pay when a nymph uses her magic to soothe your mind. One thing was sure, though. Harry would take dreams in which he, Dyra and countless nameless Dryads rolled around the sheets over one with Voldemort any day of the week.

Harry also felt oddly refreshed. He hadn't felt this awake for a long time. Dreams of Voldemort, of Sirius, of Dumbledore and all the other horrors he had witnessed had taken away the regenerating effect of his sleep for months now. Today, as he laid there on the soft moss bed, still hurting from the venom and his many wounds, he felt like a new man.

He tried sitting up. His arms ached, but held his weight. It was his abdomen that protested too much for Harry to get any further than leaning on his elbows. It was progress, but much less than Harry wanted; than he needed.

"Merlin dammit," he pressed out through gritted teeth.

Dyra saw him getting up. The next moment she was beside his bed and stuck a pillow behind his back.

"Thank you," he said and let himself lean back into the silken pillow.

Dyra just nodded her answer, while she already grabbed the salve and began to rub it onto his stab-wound. It didn't hurt as much as it had the days before. Still, he felt the venom making a stubborn last stand in him. It would not go out of him without a fight. It made his belly somewhat numb, while simultaneously hurting in a constant, stinging way.

"Soj shaidia vudun, wud Mamaanie." Dyra said to him.

Harry just shrugged, not understanding a word of Dyra's language. She looked at him and smiled, telling him that she tried, more out of courtesy than communication.

His abs were covered in the salve when Dyra stopped to rub it in and tended to his other injuries. They almost paled compared to the stab-wound, but were significant in their own right.

Dyra very carefully removed the silken sheet from the right side of his hip and Harry smiled at her awkward way of trying to not expose him. That had to go against her nature so much, even her muscles seemed to have second thoughts.

Harry stifled a laugh and got a mock glare back from the Dryad. It was soon replaced by the frown she had when she looked at the huge bruise on his hip. She took a potion and slowly let it drop onto the blue and yellow, on some spots almost black skin and shook her head when it did exactly nothing.

Sighing she placed the potion back on the shelf and threw her arms up in defeat. She pointed at his abdomen and then back at the bruise, drawing a gestured connection between them.

"The bruise doesn't heal because of the basilisk venom?"

She pointed as he said "basilisk" and nodded. Then she used her index fingers to gesture fangs at her mouth and hissed while poking his sides with them. She wiggled her fingers and let her hands circle around his body. Harry understood her gesturing, but couldn't help himself and laughed at the ridiculous pose Dyra struck.

She tried to glare at him, but her mouth betrayed her with a slowly increasing smile


	3. Sanctum

Soj returned on the third day, while Harry and Dyra were sitting for lunch. Once again Harry had made an improvement. He was capable of eating his own stew. Lifting his hands up and down for every bite was still a painful task, but he much rather did that than relive the embarrassing experience of being fed by someone else and especially Dyra.

It was to this scene that the breathtaking beauty of Soj came into the house. Harry, so spoiled and frustrated by Dyra's lack of any sort of human decency immediately noticed the alluring, but overall very british-mage-fashioned robe Soj wore. It had a deep cleavage, a long slit down one of her legs, and was as form fitting as a glove, but it did cover her private parts. Which was an essential plus compared to the chipper dryad Harry had spent the last three days with. It made focusing much easier.

"You sit?" Soj asked with a happily surprised undertone. "And you eat stew?"

"Dyra took good care of me." Harry answered and received the sight of a blushing Dyra, with the greenish hue returning to her cheeks. "Also you should not underestimate her stew. It's brilliant."

"So your company was to your liking?" Soj smirked.

Harry didn't miss the teasing undertone, but only credited it with a roll of his eyes. "I still understand nothing of what she says, and neither does she understand what I say. Yet, she was a great support and her care ended up making me at least be able to sit up again and eat on my own."

That was met with a frown of Soj, and her eventually glaring at Dyra something fierce.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked. "She was the perfect host and nurse, I assure you."

"Oh, I'm very sure of that." Soj pressed out, glaring even more at the dryad sitting next to him. Dyra, for her part, looked very much ashamed, with her blush now tinting her entire face in a olive green hue.

"I think I missed something here…" Harry asked vaguely.

Soj growled, a most alien sounds from a mouth like hers. She took the stew from Dyra and pointed at the door. "Sisek jomaninati baosh gualiam!" she hissed at her. Dyra practically fled the room and left Soj to take her place next to the bed. The healer sat down with a sigh and her head shaking at the retreating form of Dyra.

"Soj? Whats wrong?" Harry asked.

The dryad healer took a deep breath to calm herself and then answered with her normal, calm and melodic voice. "Dyra understands English perfectly well. She just can't speak it."

"What, but I…"

"I did try to tell her that she shouldn't treat you like any other human male, but I think she had troubles drawing that line. You two didn't have sex, did you?"

"No,... no we didn't." Harry gave back perplexed. "She once tried, but I figured thats just… you know?"

"What we do?"

"Well… yeah."

She sighed again, much deeper this time and gave him a small, indulgent smile. "I really can't say it isn't within our nature. And I can't blame Dyra, she only ever was with dryads. I spent six years with all kinds of magical beings. I had to curb my… urges."

"She didn't try again, after the first time. Even that was only half-heartedly. As I already said, she was the perfect host and nurse,... except for understanding what I said to her and not telling me."

"It seems she already went far out of her way to comfort you. Don't be too harsh with her when she comes back."

Harry laughed quietly at that. "It sounded like you did that for me."

"I was a bit rough in how I sent her away, I agree." Soj nodded at her own statement. She then waved her thoughts away with a elegant wave of her hands and turned towards Harry's belly. "The wound is still open and inflamed. Fortunately I have a solution for that."

Harry got rid of his bowl of stew and looked at her with big eyes. "You have?"

"What did you think I was doing the last three days?"

Harry shrugged. "Healer stuff?"

"Healer stuff." Soj scoffed and put her arms at her hip in mock outrage. "I was looking for the cure against basilisk venom, of course."

"So you just went out and decided to look for one of the rarest magical creatures on the planet?" Harry's voice carried a slight hint of amusement, but it couldn't be farther from what he truly felt. He was truly touched by the gesture alone, and so relieved with her apparent success, he couldn't even begin to describe what weight had fallen off his shoulders. This was it, he would be able to get up and continue the fight - whatever was left of the fight anyway.

"I didn't just look for any phoenix, of course. I wasn't keen on year long expeditions at all." Soj just finished as a bright ball of golden fire flashed in the room and a bird of unparalleled majesty settled at the end of his bed.

"MERLIN!" Harry shouted in surprise. In front of him stood a great phoenix in all of their species' inherent glory. He had fresh plumage, bursting with color and perfect, undamaged feathers. The phoenix had to be just past his last burning day. The majestic bird trilled a song of greeting and friendship to him and in that moment, Harry recognized him by the amazing feeling he got alone. "Fawkes?"

The phoenix bobbed his head in the positive and gave another, quieter chirp. Then he walked up the bed, up Harry's legs and knees to eventually have his head above his abdomen. What followed was a song so tragic, so utterly sad that Harry's heart clenched in all the pains of his past. Fawkes looked him in the eyes. Harry looked back. They understood each other.

"I miss him too, Fawkes." Harry whispered and took the phoenix in a soft and gentle hug. "I miss him every day."

Fawkes answered by continuing his sad song, full of loss and pain. Harry felt like this had no business being part of a phoenix's song. They were supposed to mend hearts, minds and souls. Yet here he was, sharing his grief with the one creature that should be so far above that.

Fawkes pulled away from the hug, but let his head rest against Harry's. It felt hot, but comfortably so, like a warm embrace of loving hands. Harry smiled at the feeling and let himself be immersed in it. The warmth spread over his body and soothed his aches. His muscles relaxed, finally having some way of letting go of the constant tension. It was as if his body stood in silent anticipation to the end of this internal fight.

" _Albus would have been disappointed in me. But I couldn't bear this pain - not seeing him every day. I'm sorry I left."_

Harry startled at the sudden voice, like small bells sounding in his head. Yet it was familiar, as if he had known the voice for ages.

"I know. Fawkes, believe me, I know." Harry whispered to him.

" _But I am here now. The dryad has told me of your injury. Let me heal you, and if you permit, let me stay with you."_

"You would stay?" Harry asked Fawkes, but the true question for himself was if he truly wanted another perching on his shoulder. Within all the loss he had endured, the memories of Hedwig stung worse than most.

" _You have lost Hedwig, I have lost Albus. We share this pain."_

"Did you know her?"

" _The question is, was there any bird in Hogwarts that didn't know her?"_ Fawkes voice in his head made that sound like fond exasperation. " _I have flown with her quite often. She was a beautiful and smart young girl - opinionated too. You could say I was as fond of her as Albus was of you."_

Harry felt a smile creep up on him, even though he let his tears flow freely at the memory of his lost familiar. The pain felt dull, however, so embedded in the sea of grief he has found himself in. Hedwig had been his first friend. She had been the first he had been comfortable with telling her his worries and sorrows, yet the anguish didn't want to surge up again as it had in the past.

" _There is still a fight to win, Harry."_ Fawkes slowly pulled his head away from Harry, but never let his eyes waver away from his.

"In just don't know how… I don't know how, Fawkes."

" _Together,"_ Fawkes' voice whispered. " _Take allies wherever they come from."_ He looked over to Soj who was glued to the scene in front of her. " _Soj is as pure of heart as you can be. You can trust her."_

"I do… I think." Harry answered, also glancing over to the dryad.

"Are… Are you talking about me?" Soj leaned back at the phoenix' and her patient's intense gaze.

"We are." Harry said. "Fawkes said I could trust you. I believe him."

"Oh," Soj never let herself slump or in any way seem ungraceful, but a small hint of greenish hue on her cheeks betrayed her feelings.

"But I would not ask of you to go into this war with me, I…"

"I'll go!" Soj interrupted him loudly. She clenched her fists and her face took on a fierce, determined frown. "This isn't just your war, Harry. Even if _some_ people are too blind to see it."

"Who are you talking about?"

Soj huffed and stood up suddenly, toppling the chair she sat on. It was an odd look on a dryads face, to see actual anger there. For all its oddness, it was a fearsome expression.

"It is time for the bad news, then." she bemoaned. "But first, let Fawkes do his thing."

The phoenix didn't have to be asked twice. He leaned down over Harry's abdomen and let the first tears drop down onto the angry red wound. As the tears hit the still inflamed and bloody gash, the blood hissed. Harry's muscles cramped up painfully as a surge of the venom's last stand coursed through his veins. It was over as quickly as it came, followed by the ever so surreal feeling of having your wounds closing in rapid speed.

The stab wound on his belly closed, but it left an ugly scar behind, with serrated edges and deep red in color. Though the pain was gone, now exchanged by the more dull, but still hindering pain that came from his other wounds and bruises.

"The rest will be a matter of a few potions, now that the venom won't deny their effects." Soj rummaged through her reserves of potions in the many little nooks and crannies around the room. She produced a few for Harry to consume, but more than double vanished in a small wallet she had hidden in her robes.

Harry thanked the phoenix with a rub of his plumage that Fawkes eagerly leaned into. However, his eyes didn't leave the frantic dryad, now packing robes and books into another bag.

Confident that he was now capable of it, Harry grabbed the sheets and carefully held them so to protect his decency. Then he sat up, still slow and weak, but mostly free of pain. His feet touched the floor which was covered in the same moss he had been lying on. He cherished the feeling of having ground against his soles for a moment. Meanwhile Soj didn't stop her packing spree. She got even more frantic in her packing.

"Soj," Harry tried to get her attention, but the dryad wasn't looking at him. "Soj, can you stop?" he tried again.

"We need to get going." she answered, not stopping to look at him.

"Why?" Harry demanded.

Soj sighed, turned around and briskly moved next to Harry. She gave a nervous look to the door, then back to him, then back to the door again. Her hands were fingering the bag, nervously tapping at its rim and bottom. "I can feel the grove." she finally said.

"So?" Harry was getting slightly annoyed at the cryptic talk of Soj.

"You don't understand." she almost pleaded.

"Then explain it to me."

Her eyes focused back on his own, green meeting green, and Harry saw an odd glint in her eyes. Had he been asked to put a name on it, he would have said it was a predatory gaze, barely kept at bay by sheer force of will.

"The grove has a young, handsome, strong willed man in its midst that has been denied to the entirety of the dryad population for almost half a month now. That young man has now been cured of his illness which was cause for many dryads to at least wait." Soj pressed her eyes shut and grit her teeth. "I didn't think the difference would be that severe."

When she opened her eyes again, Harry knew just how much Soj has held back. He was swamped, almost suffocated by a wave of her magic. It hit him with the power of a Reducto and the effect of Amortentia, so utterly overwhelming that his mind, his entire being, was defined and framed by nothing but the desire to be with Soj. He wanted to hold her, caress her, kiss her. He wanted to press her down onto the bed with his body and give into her until they were both raw.

His hands were onto her before he even registered what he did. With one hand he cupped her perfect breasts, the other vanished in her hair, behind her head to lead her lips to his own.

There was nothing but her. Soj was his everything, his alpha and omega. And it made him angry that she would not move her head towards his. He had rage brewing in his chest as she took away his hands from her body. How dare she…

 _What am I doing?_ Harry stopped and his body grinded to a halt. _She doesn't owe me anything. Why do I…_

 _She is MINE!_

 _No she isn't._

 _YES! SHE BELONGS TO ME!_

 _Thats… no._

 _I LOVE HER!_

 _No… no wait… somethings wrong._

With the same sensation as defeating of an Imperio, Harry snapped out of whatever trance he was in and found himself standing in front of Soj, his hands in an odd position between trying to rip away her clothes and holding onto the bed. His mind was still dazed, but the situation slowly dawned on him.

"Woah…" he whispered.

"Yes, now imagine two hundred dryads doing that to you simultaneously. We need to go. Fawkes!"

" _On it."_ the phoenix' voice said. His talons grabbed onto both Harry and Soj and Harry was already feeling the twisting sensation.

"Soj!" he heard someone scream and then pressure around his ankle.

With a fiery blaze they landed onto a soft, but dusty carpet. Harry groaned as he turned around on the carpet. He just had to fall onto his bruised hip, of course. Yet he had not much time to think of his pain until he was assaulted by lips on his own mouth, sloppily kissing him. He felt a soft body on his and hands groping him all over.

There was another brutal wave of magic, just like Soj had shot at him, but vastly different. The magic he was hit by wasn't quite as erotic, it lacked grace and elegance, but made up for it by being warmer and more excited.

Harry also noted that by recognizing the magic, he was quick to overcome it. He opened his eyes to see the green and brown of not Soj, but another very familiar dryad.

"Dyra!" he shouted as he ripped away his lips from hers. "Dyra stop this, Merlin damnit!"

"Dyra!" came the more indignant screech from Soj, just an arm length next to him. She waved her hands in complex, but quick patterns and Dyra levitated away from him, upwards to the ceiling of the house they were in.

Harry shot up, and by the fresh air around his bits was painfully reminded that he had lost the sheets during the fiery apparition by phoenix.

While Soj was laying into Dyra, with the younger dryad giving back as good as she got in the furious argument between the dryads, Harry looked for any kind of cover for himself. He found a dusty pillow, which in absence of a better solution had to do. He held it in front of his privates and slowly walked away backwards from the dryads. He felt it and was pretty sure that should the sloshing waves of magic that burst against each other hit him, he'd be sure to black out and ravage them. Which wasn't too bad a thought, if it wouldn't make him feel so guilty he wanted to hate himself for even thinking it, forced to or not.

Fawkes trilled a laugh, which earned him a glare from Harry. The phoenix flew through an open door into the next room, and Harry had the feeling that he was supposed to follow. They came into an old bedroom. It was small, equally as dusty, but furnished with well made, rustic oaken furniture; a wide bed and a large wardrobe. Fawkes pointed at the wardrobe and trilled his encouragement.

It was filled with old robes, some underwear and the odd, old muggle clothes, all in mismatched colors and patterns. The robes were barely any better, but Harry did find himself some plain, black ones and some fitting underwear.

" _Oh, too bad. I had hoped you'd have the same extravagant taste as Albus."_ Fawkes said.

"So, this is… what? The headmasters secret house?"

" _You could say that, though Albus hasn't been here for the last seven years."_ Fawkes glided over to the bed and let himself get comfortable on the dusty sheets. " _This is Ariana's Sanctum, as Albus called it. It is deep within the forests of Norway, surrounded by nothing but miles of trees. Albus bought the property a long time ago, after he defeated Gellert. I think he wanted to make it an orphanage and care center for children with magical illnesses, but then he became Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump and what have you. Time ran short, I think, and so it became but a unfulfilled dream and, as you can see by the wardrobe, something of a storage house for him."_

Harry took a long look at the black robes he wore. These had once been Albus Dumbledore's and now they clad him, perfectly fitting as well. Harry assumed they were enchanted to fit themselves, yet felt oddly connected to the late headmaster by it.

He gave Fawkes a small smile. "Seems like a good hideout. Do you know if its protected? I can't stay too long anywhere without charms to secure it."

" _Its very well protected. In fact, nobody but four people on the planet know of it, and only one of them is human."_

"Soj, Dyra, me and…?"

" _He should be around. He never goes too far, I think."_ Fawkes answered.

As Fawkes said that he heard the voices outside go from agitated and angry to surprised and maybe even a little scared.

"Odin's forsaken eye, what are two of you skanks doing here?" Over the newly angry screams of the two dryads the new voice roared. "FAWKES!"

" _There he is."_ the phoenix said amused. " _Lets get you two acquainted."_

Not exactly encouraged by the tone of voice chosen by the new arrival, Harry followed the phoenix carefully, lest he'd get some ugly surprise.

Ugly was about the right word to describe the man, if it even was a man. Harry almost panicked, thinking the being an inferi, but when he watched closer he saw intelligence flicker in the blue shining eyes. The man was tall, towering at least four heads taller than Harry in the room. But all he was, was skin and bones and even the skin part seemed to grow less and less. He had holes in his skin where an empty ribcage could be seen, with only a stone of obsidian, the size of a heart, visible in the middle.

"Fawkes! Fafnir get you, you stupid bird, bringing dryads into Albus' home. Could've gotten some less whoring servants to stroke your plumage?"

Fawkes trilled a welcome to the undead being, and Harry decided to trust the friendly tone of it. " _May I introduce to you, Alffuer. He is a draugr, but no fear, he barks loud, but doesn't bite."_

"I see…" Harry said to Fawkes. Turning to the draugr he took a leap of faith and offered the undead man his hand. "Harry Potter. Its… uhm… nice to meet you."

"Ah, got it." Alffuer gave the phoenix a lingering look before he took Harry's hand and almost broke it, so tight was his handshake. "Things have gone down the shitter and you come to this house? Britain's fucked, then." the draugr spat and continued under his breath "Serves those saxons basterds right."

Alffuer pointed Harry to a table in the corner of the room, framed with a bench and a few stools. All was made from oak, and as rustic as the rest of the house. Harry took a seat at the bench at the wall, and was quickly trapped between two dryads left and right to him. Soj and Dyra seemed to have forgotten about their fight and decided to glare at the draugr sitting down opposite to them.

"Got yourself some company for your hideout, I see." Alffuer gave a raspy laugh from his skeletal face.

"They're the reason I'm alive. Dyra and Soj have rescued me and healed me up as good as they could."

"Yes, I'm sure you absolutely hated your time inside a dryads grove. Horrible places those, aren't they. Ugly women doing ugly things to you. Now who could stand that? You had to be miserable, poor boy. And oh the humanity, now two of those creatures followed you. Consider my pity endless."

"Yikes." Soj mumbled.

"Buso!" Dyra gave back a bit louder.

"Save it, treeheads." the draugr grumbled with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, you're here now. Just don't be too loud at night, my gravehill is right around the corner."

"I'm not…" Harry held up his hands and closed his eyes for a second to gather his wits. Not an hour was past since he had eaten stew with Dyra, and now he was in Norway, with Fawkes, in Albus Dumbledore's hut in the forest, talking to an undead norseman. He had to slow this down, else he felt his brain would collapse.

"Look," Harry began and made sure everybody was listening. "They're both my friends, not my… playthings, or whatever you think. I'm here because Fawkes think it's safe. Safe is what I need right now. I have to plan."

"Planning? Lad, you're too late. Didn't you hear?" Alffur looked honestly confused.

"Heard what?" Harry asked and turned to Soj when she sighed.

"Bad news number two. I didn't really have time to tell you in the grove." Soj looked down onto the table, her hands tightly together. "Its like this. Whatever happened to your friend… Ron?"

"Yes, go on…"

"Well… he now calls himself the Golden King. He is why I said this isn't only your war. Even with the Dark Lord it was but a matter of time until he would steer his eyes towards us, but with the Golden King…"

Harry took her hands in his, seeing her struggle, hoping it would calm her enough to continue. In some way it did. She opened her hands and took his, while leaning into him until the twigs in her hair scratched him under the chin.

"The Golden King." Harry tried the words out on his tongue, but they wouldn't connect with the image of Ron. They wouldn't even fit the creature that possessed Ron. It was a strange word that claimed connection to his former best friend, but there was none.

"He attacked the Goblins. Why, nobody really knows. All that is known is that he killed entire Clans and made off with as much gold as he could carry - which is pretty much everything. People say he faced the Dark Lord himself, as well as the Death Eaters. Somehow he escaped and took many of the Death Eaters with him." she paused. "All of them women, if the reports are true."

"Aye, many a soul has passed the veil that day. The Goblins of Britain are all but extinct. You gotta give it to the new government though - they did manage to not have London burn to ashes." Alffur added.

But Harry barely heard the draugr speak. He wasn't sure, but he could see the forming of a pattern. Combined with how he believed the horcrux worked on Ron, it made sense. What were Ron's base desires? He graved wealth in whatever form. He graved recognition, especially in the form of women mooning over him. Harry was no people's man, but he knew that much about his best friend. He figured that the horcrux must have dialed these traits up to a hundred and created a rampaging, powerful wizard hell bent on taking what he felt was denied to him all his life. Gold and women.

"Our first priority," Harry began, and his voice silenced the dryads, the draugr and even made the phoenix look up from the misfitted group to focus on him. "is to bring back Hermione into the fold. Of course we have to see... " Harry choked, but a thick gulp of bile later he caught himself and continued. "We have to see if she is still alive. If she is, we need to rescue her."

"Why?" came the simple question from Alffur.

Harry had to restrain himself to not jump up and fling himself at the skeletal man. However, something in the undead norseman's eyes, those blue glowing, cold eyes, made him halt and consider. It hadn't been a question to discredit him, but one of simple interest.

"I can't do much without her. She's the brain of the mission. I'm just lucky, most of the time."

"Its always skill that breeds luck, boy." Alffur growled out. "The gods bless those who've earned it." He shrugged. "If you say she is important, I'll take your word for it."

"Thank you," Harry let himself take a breath before saying, "but in order to find and rescue her, I need a wand. I'm not equipped to do anything right now, let alone fight any version of Vol… the Big Bad."

"Thats not so much a problem, it just requires some time and effort." Alffur waved off.

The table looked at the draugr, waiting for him to explain.

"Are you kidding, boy?" He waved around the group with an exasperated groan. "You have a phoenix, two dryads and there are more wandsmiths around Europe than Ollivander. Just get a new one, for Loki's sake!"

"Uhm,..."

"Well, he is right." Soj shrugged. "Our head growth can be used as wand wood."

" _And if I am to give another feather for you, I will do so gladly._ " Fawkes added, a chirp and nod following to inform the others.

Harry felt a heavy weight fall from his chest as he nodded. "Then all we need is a wandsmith."

"That ain't a problem either." Alffur chuckled. "I know a guy."

* * *

An hour later Harry sat in front of the cabin, looking over the small unkempt garden into the deep woods of Norway. Alffur and Fawkes had vanished through a small path to check if the mood in wherever the wandsmith lived was in favor of Harry Potter.

Soj had dragged Dyra out of the cabin and forcefully apparated the younger Dryad back to the grove, much to her very vocal protest. He hadn't expected her to take this long, but apparently it took them an hour to separate.

The exhaustion stood blatantly on Soj's face, as if chiseled into her features. She came out into the garden and sank down next to Harry on a small wooden bench. Harry watched as she procured bandages and began treating a wound on her arm. It was a series of long gashes, but not too deep.

"What happened?" Harry asked, while taking the bandages from her and continuing to treat the wound with two hands.

"Punishment," she whispered.

"For helping me?"

"For stealing you from the grove." she sighed. "It got physical. Not every dryad thinks of humans as people, you see."

"So they feel you stole a tool from them."

"They think I want that tool to keep for only myself." she pressed out a small, sad chuckle. "Which isn't entirely incorrect." she said with a small voice.

"Soj, I…"

"I won't force you to do anything. We should focus on your wand."

Harry stopped bandaging and gave Soj a cheeky smile. She just rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep down her own creeping smile. "Very mature,"

"Says the one delivering the oldest joke in the book."

He continued to apply the bandage, all from her elbow to her wrist. He took care to be as gentle as he could, but from time to time Soj would wince as the bandage touched a particularly deep wound.

"What else?" Harry asked her.

"What do you mean?"

"What else is part of the punishment. You said it 'got physical', which means it was verbal before. I take it these gashes are not the only punishment you received."

Soj gulped. Her voice was even weaker when she answered. "They said I could come back with you, or not at all."

"So, exile?"

"Yes,"

With some difficulty Harry managed to bind the bandage into a knot between her thumb and her index. He took measure of his work and figured it was good enough. At least Soj didn't seem to have any criticism about his medical work.

She didn't show much emotion in any case. Her gaze just fell on the woods and on the garden, tracing bushes or flowers seemingly at random. He thought that as a Dryad she probably saw more in the mix of roots, leaves and branches than he ever could, but her silence still worried him.

"I'm sorry," he eventually got out.

She met his gaze, and even through her worries she produced a small smile for him. "I know," she whispered.

"I feel like I'll never be able to repay you."

"Gifts are not made to be repaid, Harry."

"But sacrifices are." He pointed at the woods around them; he pointed at himself. "This is not a grove, and I am not a dryad. You gave up your - your home, your family."

Soj shook her head. "I would have given up on them if I hadn't gone with you. The grove mother may say that the Death Eaters will know their boundaries, but we both know that is a fool's hope."

"She truly believes that?"

"No," Soj rolled her eyes. "But that is what she has to tell herself to sleep at night. The Death Eaters have ended a grove for uttering a name. What will they do once we actively oppose them?"

"You are aware that once they see you…?"

"They will think all dryads oppose them. Yes, I am aware." she straightened up, her gaze once again on the woods. "Then my sisters will have to go to war."


End file.
